By this point, Jane’s escort of Leatherbacks had cleared a way through the crowd, and Jane and Winter could get a good view. Peddoc sat on the back of a stunning gray-and-white stallion, spurs gleaming, saddle every bit as polished and embroidered as his uniform. He rode at a slow walk around the edges of the clear space, holding the reins in one hand and gesturing with the other.
Behind him was a block of armed men, doing their best imitation of soldiers at attention. Some of them-mostly those who wore the green-edged sashes of Patriot Guard loyal to the Monarchists-managed reasonably well, although the spacing between ranks and files was ragged. Others seemed to have been grabbed off the street and issued whatever weapons were on hand. In addition to muskets, Winter saw shotguns and hunting pieces, pikes, ancient halberds, and crude spears.
More weapons rested in a great pile on a tarpaulin beside a couple of well-dressed men wearing black deputy’s sashes. From time to time a man would break free of the edge of the crowd-sometimes pushed by those around him, sometimes breaking free of attempts at restraint-and make his way forward. The men in the ranks sent up a cheer each time this happened, which was echoed, a bit more weakly, by the crowd. The new volunteers reported to the two deputies, who issued them whatever weapon was on top of the pile and sent them to stand with the others.
“What the hell does he think he’s playing at?” Jane said.
“He’s going to march them against Orlanko,” Winter said. It was idiocy, but it was the only thing she could think of. “He’s been threatening to raise a force on his own for days, since the deputies wouldn’t give him one. The news must have forced his hand.”
“Balls of the Beast,” Jane swore. “He’s taking this lot?”
“Apparently. There may be more mustering in Northside.” Winter counted the ranks with a practiced eye. Peddoc had assembled a thousand men, perhaps a bit more.
“Has he got a chance?”
“Against regulars?” Winter thought about the peasant horde, trying to storm the Vordanai line at the Battle of the Road, breaking in a welter of blood in the face of disciplined volleys of musketry and canister. “Not a prayer. Come on. We have to get to the Vendre.”
They sent the Leatherbacks away once they reached the fortress-prison, now garrisoned by the Patriot Guard. The gates stood open, and the courtyard was a mass of confusion. Patriot Guards of both colors rushed about, talked in small groups, or shouted at one another. Winter guessed that Peddoc had sent instructions for the Guard to join his ranks, while the deputies issued contradictory orders. Judging by the ratio of colored sashes she could see, most of the Greens had sided with Peddoc, while the Reds were remaining at their posts.
No one stopped the two young women as they wandered through the courtyard, past the main door, and back to the main staircase. Jane gave a shudder as they passed over the threshold.
“I was hoping like hell I was done with this place,” she said.
“Likewise,” Winter said. “At least this time I get to come in the front door.”
“And it’s not full of black-coats.”
“That, too.”
Whatever one thought about Duke Orlanko, his Concordat had certainly made more effective watchmen than their replacements. Winter and Jane walked up the stairs without anyone giving them more than an odd look. On the upper levels, the confusion was less apparent, and at least the cells were each watched by a guardsman. Not knowing what floor they were bound for, Winter eventually collared a young Red and asked for directions, which he stammered out without thinking to ask who the visitors were and what they were doing.
“This is ridiculous,” Winter said, as they climbed toward the third floor. “We could break someone out of this place with a gang of eight-year-olds.”
Jane rolled her eyes in agreement. They walked down a short corridor and stopped in front of the door they wanted, which was guarded by an older man wearing a red-striped sash. He straightened up when he caught sight of them, bringing his musket to his shoulder and trying to pull in his sagging belly.
“We need to speak to the prisoner,” Winter said, as he opened his mouth to speak.
“Ah. .,” he managed.
“Deputies’ business,” she deadpanned.
He nodded. “I. . that is. . whose business, exactly?”
“I’m Deputy Winter Ihernglass,” Winter said. “And this is Deputy Jane Verity.”
The first name obviously meant nothing to him, but the second brought him up short. “Jane Verity? You mean Mad Jane?” His eyes flicked to Jane. “That’s her?”
“That’s right,” Jane said, smiling in a way that was not particularly friendly. “Mad Jane.”
He was sweating, but he managed a salute and started fumbling for his keys. “Let me get the door open, sir. Ma’am. Miss.”
The room beyond was less a cell than a small bedroom, with a narrow gun slit for light and a worn but serviceable bed, desk, table, and chairs. At the desk sat Captain Marcus d’Ivoire, looking a little bit worse for wear. His uniform was creased and sweat-stained, his beard was ragged, and his cheeks carried a week’s worth of stubble. Winter’s stomach did a nervous flip at the sight of him, and before he could look up she grabbed Jane’s arm and pulled her away from the door and the guard.
“You remember what I told you, right?” Winter whispered urgently. “About me.”
“I think so,” Jane said. “He knows you’re you, but he thinks that you’re dressed up as a girl to fool me.” She smiled wickedly. “Maybe he’s right, and you’re just doing a hell of a job-”
“I know it’s ridiculous, all right? Just. . don’t say anything. I’ll work it all out later.”
“Does he know that I know that he knows you are who he thinks you are?” Jane cocked her head, trying to think about that, and went cross-eyed. “Never mind. I’ll be good.”
“All right.” Winter took a deep breath, smoothed her shirt, and stepped into the room. Jane followed and closed the door behind her.
“Good. . morning,” Marcus said, slowly. He looked from Winter to Jane, obviously trying to work his way through the same mental gyrations as Jane had done a moment earlier, and wondering what he should admit to knowing.
Winter decided she would never laugh at the plot of those penny-opera farces again. She gritted her teeth for a moment, then said, “Hello, Captain. This is Jane Verity. She knows I’m with the army, so speak freely.”
“I see.” Marcus blinked and scratched his ragged beard. “All right. Hello, Ihernglass, Jane.” He paused. “You wouldn’t be this ‘Mad’ Jane that everyone-”
“That’s me,” Jane said. “I think we met the last time I was in this place, but I don’t blame you for being preoccupied.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Marcus said. “I’m assuming you’re not just here to check on me? There seems to be some kind of commotion outside.”
“Do you get any news in here?” Winter said.
“Not much. The guards let things slip sometimes, but it’s mostly rumor.”
Winter gave him a condensed explanation of what had been happening at the Deputies-General in the week since the queen’s surrender. Jane also listened with interest, adding a few colorful expletives and comments on the situation in the Docks. By the end, Marcus was shaking his head.
“Saints and martyrs,” he said. “I never thought it would get so bad.”
“It gets worse,” Winter said. “This morning we got the news that Orlanko’s left Midvale with the Royal Army troops quartered there. Peddoc is out in the square right now gathering a force to go and meet him.”
“To meet him? He must be crazy.” Marcus glanced at the window, which looked to the north, out over the river. “Assuming the regulars will fight-”